"Oliver," was written on the front. He opened it and took out a
note.
Hi. I'll understand if you don't want to see me. But if you do--I get
off at noon Friday. I can go straight home and do the shopping
Saturday. If you can't make it, next Friday would be good too. But if
you don't want to, I'll understand. (I said that already.) Missing you.
S.
P.S. Eat this note.
Oliver folded the note into a small square and buried it in his pocket.
Suzanne looked up when he put his head in her door. She was dressed
plainly in a white blouse. Her hair was pulled back. Her eyes were
soft. "Saturday's a good day for shopping," he said.
She lowered her eyes for a moment. The corners of her mouth moved down
and back, the beginning of her smile. "If you go early," she said. She
was tender and proud, so compact that Oliver wanted to sweep her into
his arms and keep her inside his shirt. He smiled helplessly and went
back to his office. Didn't mean to do that, he said to himself. But he
knew he couldn't run from her; it would be like running from himself.
This thing was going to destroy him if he didn't come to grips with it,
if he didn't understand what was going on.
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